


afterparty

by Ethereally



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dressing Room Sex, F/F, Ingrid Brandl Galatea Being a Glutton, It's A Double Entendre, Oral Sex, Porn Without Plot, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally
Summary: In which Dorothea invites Ingrid to a private backstage tour of the Mittenfrank opera company, and Ingrid misunderstands just whatafterpartymeans.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 12
Kudos: 172





	afterparty

The parchment invitation feels flimsy and delicate in Ingrid's hand. She knows she should have been more careful with it, especially because it is something she wants to keep as a souvenir, but she hadn't been able to help folding and unfolding it every chance she'd gotten, rereading Dorothea's looping handwriting telling Ingrid to come watch her performance of Queen Loog. "And," Dorothea had written, "Once you're done, why don't you meet me backstage for a private tour of the Mittlefrank Opera Company? An afterparty, for me and my Ingrid." 

Ingrid isn't quite sure what an afterparty entails, but Sylvain had mentioned that food is normally involved. Her stomach growls at the very thought, and she wonders what sort of delicious treats she might get to dine on later, along with Dorothea and the rest of her cast and crew. When she and the Kingdom Army had marched into Enbarr for war, she'd gotten the chance to try some delicious pork belly skewers during a rare moment of quiet, drizzled with soy sauce and sesame seeds. Perhaps they will have some of those at the party-- oh, she can't wait! Ingrid's stomach makes a loud, rather unladylike, churning sound, and she folds the invitation back into place, tucking it into the pocket of her pants. She taps her foot on the ground impatiently, frowning up at the stage. Ingrid cranes her neck, trying to peer into the wings. 

Is this where she's supposed to wait? Dorothea hadn't specified. Still, it feels a little foolish to be standing around at the foot of the stage, watching as patrons of the theatre continue to flood out. An uneasy feeling begins to creep upon Ingrid. She'd already felt out of place watching the performance; everyone around her had been decked out in all manner of fancy gowns and frilly hats, while Ingrid was terribly self-conscious about her teal military jacket and matching pants. As a child, Ingrid had always felt like an impostor when the Galatea family would rub shoulders with the wealthier nobles of the Kingdom; this feeling has never quite gone away despite her close friendship with Sylvain, Felix, and the current King. The opera isn't a place for a rough-and-tumble scamp like her, and her clothing feels uncomfortably light and airy on her now she doesn't have armor to cover her up. Perhaps she hasn't quite adjusted to peacetime as much as she'd like to admit.

No, no! Ingrid clenches her fist so tightly her fingernails dig into her flesh. This is not the time to be thinking about that. Dorothea had invited her, hadn't she? Ingrid can step back, relax, and enjoy the company of a trusted friend. The two of them had gotten much closer after their five-year reunion: Dorothea had been invited to join the Blue Lions House shortly before the Kingdom and the Empire had gone to war, and had aided in the Kingdom's rebuilding efforts as a result. And while Ingrid had never forgotten Dorothea's kindness in helping her be rid of that one suitor, their dynamic upon returning to Garreg Mach five years later had shifted. Their conversations were softer, their gazes lasted longer. There was a certain teasing lilt to the way Dorothea called her _my_ Ingrid that hadn't been there before. 

Ingrid had been far too focused on training and sparring and winning the war to think about it too much then, but perhaps this invitation is the chance to address her feelings. Had Dorothea felt the tension between them too? Or perhaps all of that lives in Ingrid's head. Perhaps she is just imagining the way Dorothea's touch had lingered when their hands brushed against each other accidentally in the dining hall, or how the sight of Dorothea's smile could send her heart aflutter. A flush crosses Ingrid's cheeks: either way, she probably shouldn't be waiting here. She's the only one left in the theatre now, and Dorothea is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps there is an entrance that she doesn't know about; climbing onto the stage and slipping into the wings without express permission feels rude and wrong. Maybe she should walk outside and ask for directions--

"Ingrid!" 

A familiar, melodic voice calls out to her, and Ingrid feels her heart skip a beat as she turns to its source. Dorothea is waving at Ingrid from the wings, still decked out in the navy and gold garb that she was donning as Queen Loog. The smile on Dorothea's face is so wide and genuine that for a split second, Ingrid can't help but that it's a smile Dorothea reserves just for her. Relief washes over Ingrid as Dorothea rushes out towards the front of the stage, bending over and reaching a hand out. Ingrid takes the outstretched hand, and Dorothea pulls Ingrid onto the stage with a swift motion. 

"My Ingrid, you look so handsome! So dashing. Were you waiting very long?" Dorothea was a dazzling sight even from a distance on stage, but she radiates beauty and elegance on a completely different scale now that Ingrid can get a closer look at her. Ingrid has never been one to pay much attention to grooming or make-up. However, it's difficult not to note how Dorothea's hair has been perfectly curled, and how a clear gloss accentuates Dorothea's lips. Ingrid wonders what it might be like to lean in and kiss them. 

She blinks, jolting herself back into reality. Dorothea hasn't let go of Ingrid's hand, and she's still waiting for an answer. "I wasn't waiting long at all," Ingrid says. She can only hope that she sounds as composed as she normally does. "My apologies. I wasn't quite sure where I was supposed to be waiting for you--"

"This is perfect. Don't even worry about it," Dorothea coos, before wrapping her arms around Ingrid, pulling her in for a hug. Ingrid can't help but note the light floral scent of Dorothea's perfume. A warm, familiar feeling creeps into Ingrid's chest, like sitting next to a fireplace after a long, hard day. 

Dorothea steps away from Ingrid, gesturing backstage. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Far too long, if you ask me-- now come along. We'll have plenty of time to catch up when I'm changed out of this clown costume."

"This is hardly a clown costume! You're beautiful." Ingrid flushes as the words escape her lips. Before Ingrid has time to stutter, or even to express regret, Dorothea takes her hand once more. She leads her, gently, into the wings of the stage. Dorothea is happily chattering away, asking Ingrid if the journey to Enbarr was all right (it was), how Sylvain and Felix are doing (just peachy), and most of all, about the last six months since they had last seen each other. Ingrid is quick to provide answers. Dorothea has always been a puzzle to her, street smarts and charm wrapped into a delicate package. It's enthralling. 

The next few moments are a blur of Dorothea whisking Ingrid from castmate to castmate, introducing her with all manner of qualifiers. My handsome friend, my knightly friend, my (and Dorothea takes Ingrid's hand, lifts it to her mouth and kisses it ever so gently!) dear Ingrid. Six years into their acquaintanceship and Ingrid still can't help but feel like she hasn't quite wrapped her head around Dorothea. Despite how forward her friend can be, Ingrid has always had the feeling that she is holding something back, and the feeling has only intensified since their return to Garreg Mach at the start of the war. It is an honor to be invited to watch Dorothea on stage, and an even bigger honor to be trusted backstage with her like this-- yet she can't help but wonder if there's something about the knowing looks Dorothea's castmates trade. Ingrid can be oblivious, but she certainly notices the way they giggle and stare at her and Dorothea underneath their breath, and the way one of them winks at Dorothea when she turns to Ingrid and mentions the _afterparty_. 

Ingrid's stomach makes a churning sound again. Ah yes, she almost forgot about the food, and she perks up as Dorothea leads her down the hallway. They are alone now, just the two of them, standing in front of a door with a golden plaque on it. Ingrid reaches over, tracing the name on it-- _Dorothea Arnault_. Ingrid smiles.

"Yours?"

"My private dressing room," Dorothea beams back. She puts her hand on the doorknob, turning it and opening the door. "It belonged to Manuela before that, and to many more stars before her." 

"It must be so nice to be a part of history," Ingrid murmurs as she steps in. The dressing room is bigger and more spacious than she could have imagined, with ornate carvings on marble pillars and a mirror plated with gold. It's exactly what she should have expected from a place like the Mittlefrank Opera Company, but everything about tonight has managed to impress her. Dorothea laughs, shutting the door behind them and turning the lock. 

"Aren't we all?"

Ingrid frowns. "I suppose." The war is not something that she can so easily leave behind. Perhaps in another life Ingrid might have been known for bringing song and joy to the world instead of brutality and warfare; being a knight was her wildest dream as a child, but now that she has attained it Ingrid isn't quite sure that it was everything she'd imagined. Perhaps Felix is right, and there is no real way to separate chivalry from death and murder. Ingrid can't help but feel a stab of jealousy in her chest-- at least Dorothea has the means to carve another path for herself. 

There is no time for this, though; no time for such negative thoughts. They're supposed to be here to celebrate. Ingrid turns to Dorothea, blinking at her, confused. 

"Is... Is the afterparty supposed to be here?" 

The dressing room might have been bigger than expected, but Ingrid can't see how the entire cast and crew of _Queen Loog_ could possibly fit in here. Also, if Sylvain is to be trusted (a separate can of worms in itself), an afterparty is supposed to include food and drink. The only things in the room right now are Ingrid, Dorothea, and rows and rows of beautiful gowns worn by divas of the opera company past. Not that she minds spending alone time with Dorothea, but this isn't exactly what she'd pictured. A bemused smile tugs at Dorothea's lips. 

"Sweet Ingrid, did you not understand the invitation? By a private afterparty for you and me, I thought we could... You know," Dorothea says, taking a step closer to Ingrid and placing a hand on her cheek, "Have a repeat performance of our last night at Garreg Mach."

"Oh." Realization dawns upon Ingrid and a flush crosses her face. Truth be told, Ingrid hasn't given that incident much thought; she had figured that it might be nice to spend the night before the final battle with someone, to fall asleep in the arms of a trusted friend. Dorothea had a countless number of other suitors of every gender throwing themselves at her, and Ingrid had brushed that incident off as the two of them just trying to find familiar comfort. But as Dorothea leans in and places a soft kiss on Ingrid's lips, Ingrid can't help but allow herself to wonder if it had meant more to Dorothea-- and if it should have meant more to her at the time. She deepens the kiss, tracing her tongue against Dorothea's lips, and when they part to allow Ingrid entrance a warmth courses through her, a familiar yearning, a heat that she hasn't felt since she was at the monastery. 

Dorothea is a passionate kisser. There's something about the way she wraps her arm around Ingrid's waist that makes her weak at the knees, something about the way she pulls away, leans into her ear and calls her my Ingrid that makes Ingrid tremble. Dorothea has been calling Ingrid that for years at this point, but for the first time Ingrid wonders if there is maybe more to that. And when Dorothea tugs at her arm, pulling her in the direction of a maple and gold vanity, Ingrid mulls through the words in her mind: her Ingrid, _Dorothea's _Ingrid. She could get used to that. There's all the time in the world to figure all this out now that the war is over. Dorothea gestures towards the desk of the vanity.__

__"Won't you take a seat?"_ _

__Ingrid scrunches up her nose. "Don't you want to sit down? You're the one who's been on stage all day." The silver stiletto heels that Dorothea is wearing can't be comfortable, but Ingrid can't help but appreciate the way they extend her legs, peeking underneath the slit of Dorothea's navy dress. She's beautiful. Ingrid has always known that, even while she was busy sifting under the layers of guilt and denial about being into women. Dorothea has always been a sight to behold, but in the dim light of the dressing room there's something that's ethereal about her. She's almost like a mirage, a vision, a mirage nearly too good to be true, but there's nothing unreal about the way Dorothea takes Ingrid's shoulders and guides her towards the vanity, tapping on its surface._ _

__"I think it's your turn to be the star of the show."_ _

__Ingrid flushes, but she barely has time to react before Dorothea leans down, closing the space between the two of them with another soft, gentle kiss. Rough hands scarred by fire and combat sneak underneath Ingrid's military jacket and under her shirt, and Ingrid feels a thrill of pleasure surge through her as Dorothea's hands make contact with her waist, teasing against the edge of her bra. She leans into the kiss, hoping to make do with her own clumsy gestures. Her fingers skim Dorothea's chest. Her tongue pushes against Dorothea's lips. Ingrid is still far more used to parrying with a sword than with a girl, and this is the one kind of of duel she is unfamiliar with-- after all, she was cast in a mold for war, not love. She remembers sword fighting with Glenn and Felix in her backyard before she remembers being held._ _

__Then again, if there's anything Dorothea has taught her, it's how to break free from the roles that bind you._ _

__Dorothea unhooks Ingrid's jacket, casting it onto the ground, promptly making quick work of the fastenings on the back of Ingrid's shirt and letting it fall into a heap as well. Ingrid takes that as a cue to undo the ribbons holding together Dorothea's corset, and Dorothea moans into the kiss as she is freed from the restraints. (Ingrid's only worn a corset a few times. Each time has been more restrictive than the rest; she can't imagine how Dorothea manages to wear one while singing opera, of all things.) Dorothea pulls away from the kiss, leaning down to whisper into Ingrid's ear._ _

__"The party's barely getting started." She nips against Ingrid's earlobe cheekily, giggling before she presses a soft string of kisses down Ingrid's neck, trailing down to her collarbone. Ingrid lets out a soft gasp as Dorothea makes contact with a pulse point; her movements feel stilted and immature in response, even as she laces her hands into Dorothea's hair, tugging at it gently. The soft exhale that falls from Dorothea's lips is enough evidence that Ingrid might be doing something right. Ingrid feels herself relax, and she continues to play with Dorothea's hair, tucking a lock behind her ear. Dorothea continues kissing down Ingrid's chest, pausing as she gets to Ingrid's underclothes. She reaches out to unhook them, but not before bumping her nose against Ingrid's, gently checking in._ _

__"May I?"_ _

__"Of course."_ _

__Ingrid nods, and Dorothea smirks as she removes the garment. She gently fondles Ingrid's breasts, serene smile ever-present as she trails against Ingrid's nipples. The same thrill from earlier rushes through Ingrid, and the sheer delight of the feeling is enough to push away any negative thoughts she might have about this act-- no worrying about whether she's good enough, experienced enough, or if she can give Dorothea as good as she's getting. She grips the edge of the vanity, and the smooth, relaxed tone of Dorothea's voice wafts into her ear._ _

__"Don't stress too much," she says, planting a soft kiss on Ingrid's cheek. "This is a private show just for you. Sit back, enjoy it and don't worry, okay?"_ _

__"I'll try," Ingrid murmurs. Dorothea is planting a string of kisses down her neck again, and the warmth that is pooling between Ingrid's legs is getting harder and harder to ignore. Ingrid lets out another gasp when Dorothea's lips make contact with a pulse point._ _

__Dorothea laughs. "Try harder to relax, then," she says, but there's nothing but jovial kindness in her words. She takes Ingrid's hand in hers, lifting it to her face and giving it a gentle kiss. Ingrid blushes even harder as Dorothea brings Ingrid's hand back to where it was against the edge of the dresser, squeezing it gently. Another soft kiss. Another light caress of Ingrid's nipples, before Dorothea bends over to undo the fastenings of her trousers, hand reaching to tease against her underwear. Ingrid is slick and wet underneath her smallclothes, and Dorothea's contact is almost enough to make her drop her composure. A soft, yearning noise falls from Ingrid's lips. Previously she might have been ashamed to admit she was capable of a wanton sound like that, but Dorothea's words have a way of casting a spell on her._ _

__There's something about Dorothea that makes Ingrid less afraid to feel desire, to yearn and to want and to take in a way that she's never felt like she could before. Dorothea's hand slips into Ingrid's undergarments, and she tightens her hold on the vanity, the shaking sense of pleasure returning to her as Dorothea's fingers rub against the rim of Ingrid's slit, brushing against her sweet spot ever-so-briefly before dancing away again. Ingrid lets out a loud moan-- this dressing room is hopefully soundproofed, right-- and her hips rock against Dorothea's touch. Dorothea's hand traces against the small nub of flesh again, with just a little more force this time. A finger slides into Ingrid with no resistance at all, and she's teetering on the edge of bliss. So close, so close; Dorothea is thrusting into her, the backside of her thumb pushing against Ingrid's clit. So close, so close!_ _

__Soft, lush lips painted with gloss crash against Ingrid's, and she comes with a gasp. Release surges through her, leaving a lightness in her body that she can't remember having ever felt before. Ingrid parts her lips to say something, to offer to help Dorothea out in return, but Dorothea places a warm, wet finger on Ingrid's mouth._ _

__"We're just getting started," she purrs. Ingrid can taste herself on her lips and she doesn't dislike it. "I told you to relax, didn't I? But I do think you're still wearing too many clothes."_ _

__"What's that supposed to mean?" Ingrid pulls away, piping up. She doesn't know why she does when she knows exactly what Dorothea is talking about. Perhaps she's trying to prove that she's capable of actual words as opposed to just incoherent grunting sounds._ _

__Dorothea just smiles in return. "Help me out of your pants."_ _

__Ingrid shimmies out from her trousers, and Dorothea helps her slip out of her undergarments. It feels uncharacteristically daring of Ingrid to be naked in a semi-public place like this. She squeezes her eyes shut, conjuring the mental image of Dorothea bolting the door closed, and her courage from earlier returns with full force. Besides, it's difficult not to feel a little braver when Dorothea is getting on her knees for her. Ingrid parts her legs, allowing her entrance. A hand snakes into Dorothea's hair. She gently guides Dorothea to her slit with a bout of bravado, and she shudders as Dorothea's tongue makes contact with her lips. This feeling is still not too familiar to Ingrid, but it's nice; there's something tantalizing and forbidden about being here like this in the dressing room. It makes up for all the sneaking out and stealing snacks that she was never a part of as a child, or in Garreg Mach for that matter._ _

__The old Ingrid would have _never_ , but it's arguable that the old Ingrid died long ago. The soft wetness of Dorothea's tongue makes contact with Ingrid's clit, and she lets out a gasp, her fingernails digging into Dorothea's scalp. "Dorothea--" Ingrid manages to sputter out, but she gets no response as Dorothea continues to lap and lave at her sweet spot. She knows there's no real way to tell, but Ingrid would be willing to bet hundreds of gold that Dorothea's grinning. To be fair, she'd be smug too, knowing that her partner is getting off like this; the heat inside Ingrid floods through her, an all-consuming sensation she's come to associate with kindness and warmth and _Dorothea_._ _

__Another finger slides into Ingrid with ease. The pace of Dorothea's tongue quickens, and Ingrid can feel herself approach the edge. The hand that isn't entangled into Dorothea's hair grabs the side of the vanity, and Ingrid hopes beyond all hope that she isn't going to slide off. How embarrassing would that be? It's not like she has much control of her senses any more. There isn't much time to think about this as another digit slips inside Ingrid; Dorothea thrusts into her again, giving her fingers another twist. Ingrid's back arches with delight. She bites down on her lower lip, trying not to scream too loudly as Dorothea continues to lap at her through her orgasm. Lithe fingers work their way through Ingrid as she trembles with delight. Her grip on Dorothea's hair tightens, her hips involuntarily buck, and the same wave of bliss crashes through Ingrid before Dorothea pulls back. Ingrid was right-- she _is_ grinning. _ _

__"Missed me?" Dorothea asks._ _

__Ingrid nods back. "T-- thank you," she says. She is still flushed red. She isn't quite sure if there's more that she should add to that; words have always been Sylvain's specialty, not hers. However, Ingrid has always been good at taking responsibility through action, and it is with that thought that she slides off the vanity and takes Dorothea's hand. She pulls Dorothea up so that they are at eye level, and Ingrid presses a soft kiss on her lips. She tastes far better than she ever thought she would._ _

__"Dorothea," Ingrid says, pulling away from the kiss and cupping her lover's face with her hand. She rubs small circles into Dorothea's face with her thumb, much like she might imagine a heroine in a love story to do. " _My_ Dorothea. Would you let me return the favor?" _ _

__Hold her close, maintain her gaze-- Ingrid hopes that she's doing this right. Not everyone can be as smooth and sultry as Dorothea is, and Ingrid knows that Dorothea would prefer that she was herself. Still, she can't help but want to disarm Dorothea from time to time: it must be nice, to be the one to catch your partner off-guard. Dorothea just giggles in response, however, and kisses Ingrid back. A gentle peck, but confident and composed. There's nothing disarming about Ingrid at all for now, but it won't stop her from trying again at a later time._ _

__Dorothea smiles. "Of course," she says, happily plopping herself onto the vanity where Ingrid was once sitting. "It would be my pleasure. Undo the lacing on my dress, won't you?"_ _

__Her garments are fairly complicated, but Ingrid manages to help Dorothea out of the outfit and petticoats with relative ease, and they join the rest of Ingrid's clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor. Dorothea lets out a sigh of delight when she shucks her undergarments. Ingrid flushes as she catches a glimpse of Dorothea's soft, supple breasts, and leans in nervously, thumb skimming across Dorothea's nipple for a moment._ _

__"Should I..." Ingrid swallows the lump in her throat. "May I use my mouth?"_ _

__Dorothea smiles back at Ingrid. "I would love nothing more."_ _

__Ingrid cups one of Dorothea's breasts with one hand, gently stroking Dorothea's nipple with her tongue; this almost instantly elicits a delighted gasp. She must be doing something right. With that, she continues to lap at Dorothea's nipple, her free hand reaching over to play with Dorothea's other teat._ _

__Dorothea is a mess of groans and noises, and Ingrid remembers all of a sudden how loud Dorothea is. Ingrid can't say she dislikes it, and she definitely doesn't dislike the way Dorothea moans her name as she begins to leave a trail of kisses down Dorothea's tummy._ _

___"Ingrid, Ingrid--"_ _ _

__The wanton noises Dorothea is making imbue Ingrid with courage, and she continues to leave gentle kisses on her lover, down the rest of her stomach. Dorothea eagerly spreads her legs open to give Ingrid access, and Ingrid takes the cue, starting to move down Dorothea's thighs. She traces her hand against Dorothea's slit, which emits another gasp from her. Ah, she's ready-- a thrill runs through Ingrid. She kisses Dorothea at her entrance, relishing the taste of Dorothea on her before lapping at her nub softly, questingly. Dorothea's hips jerk with a sudden motion. Ingrid takes that as a cue to continue, and she continues to eat Dorothea out, moving her tongue in a rhythmic motion. Dorothea is still groaning and shouting Ingrid's name, and she arches a leg across Ingrid's back, pulling her closer._ _

__A hand digs into Ingrid's shoulder. Ingrid quickens the motions of her tongue, and Dorothea's hips are continuing to rock back and forth as she builds up towards her climax. She reaches her apex with a yell, throwing her head back, letting out a beautiful, melodious sound that could make angels cry-- a song, Ingrid suddenly realizes, that is specially for her. She continues to lave at Dorothea's clit, riding her through her orgasm as Dorothea trembles and shakes, finally slumping against the back of the vanity with a soft smile._ _

__"Thank you," Dorothea says, unhooking her leg from Ingrid's back. "That was great." Ingrid can't help but study Dorothea as she says this. Ingrid has never been great at reading people, but there's something about Dorothea that's almost performative; and while knows in theory that Dorothea is an actress, she's always hoped beyond hope that Dorothea would be especially honest with her. A frown crosses her brow, and Dorothea bends down to take Ingrid's hand._ _

__"Really," she says, her voice firm. "Trust me, I absolutely meant it."_ _

__Ingrid nods. "I suppose," she says. There's no point questioning it any further. Besides, she could tell that Dorothea was at least having fun, if nothing else. Dorothea shifts over on the vanity, patting the small space next to her. Ingrid takes the seat offered, and she gives Dorothea a kiss on the forehead. "I knew there would be food at the afterparty. I just didn't know you meant this."_ _

__Come to think of it, Ingrid had almost forgotten how hungry she is, and her stomach rumbles again as though on cue. Dorothea laughs, wrapping an arm around Ingrid's waist._ _

__"I was thinking that we could go out for a late-night snack after. My treat," she says. "There's a food stall nearby that opens late, and it makes the most delicious meat skewers I've ever tasted. Shall we?" Dorothea says._ _

__Ingrid smiles brightly in return. "We shall."_ _


End file.
